The Child of the Dawn
XXIV
"And now," said Amroth, "that we have been refreshed by the sight ofthis guileless place, and as our time is running short, I am going toshow you something very serious indeed. In fact, before I show it you Imust remind you carefully of one thing which I shall beg you to keep inmind. There is nothing either cruel or hopeless here; all is implacablyjust and entirely merciful. Whatever a soul needs, that it receives; andit receives nothing that is vindictive or harsh. The ideas of punishmenton earth are hopelessly confused; we do not know whether we arerevenging ourselves for wrongs done to us, or safeguarding society, ordeterring would-be offenders, or trying to amend and uplift thecriminal. We end, as a rule, by making every one concerned, whetherpunisher or punished, worse. We encourage each other in vindictivenessand hypocrisy, we cow and brutalise the transgressor. We rescue no one,we amend nothing. And yet we cannot read the clear signs of all this.The milder our methods of punishment become, the less crime is there topunish. But instead of being at once kind and severe, which is perfectlypossible, we are both cruel and sentimental. Now, there is no such thingas sentiment here, just as there is no cruelty. There is emotion in fullmeasure, and severity in full measure; no one is either pettishlyfrightened or mildly forgiven; and the joy that awaits us is all themore worth having, because it cannot be rashly enjoyed or reached by anyshort cuts; but do not forget, in what you now see, that the end isjoy."
He spoke so solemnly that I was conscious of overmastering curiosity,not unmixed with awe. Again the way was abbreviated. Amroth took me bythe hand and bade me close my eyes. The breeze beat upon my face for amoment. When I opened my eyes, we were on a bare hillside, full ofstones, in a kind of grey and chilly haze which filled the air. Justahead of us were some rough enclosures of stone, overlooked by a sort oftower. They were like the big sheepfolds which I have seen on northernwolds, into which the sheep of a whole hillside can be driven forshelter. We went round the wall, which was high and strong, and came tothe entrance of the tower, the door of which stood open. There seemed tobe no one about, no sign of life; the only sound a curious wailing note,which came at intervals from one of the enclosures, like the crying of aprisoned beast. We went up into the tower; the staircase ended in a bareroom, with four apertures, one in each wall, each leading into a kind ofbalcony. Amroth led the way into one of the balconies, and pointeddownwards. We were looking down into one of the enclosures which layjust at our feet, not very far below. The place was perfectly bare, androughly flagged with stones. In the corner was a rough thatched shelter,in which was some straw. But what at once riveted my attention was thefigure of a man, who half lay, half crouched upon the stones, his headin his hands, in an attitude of utter abandonment. He was dressed in arough, weather-worn sort of cloak, and his whole appearance suggestedthe basest neglect; his hands were muscular and knotted; his ragged greyhair streamed over the collar of his cloak. While we looked at him, hedrew himself up into a sitting posture, and turned his face blankly uponthe sky. It was, or had been, a noble face enough, deeply lined, andwith a look of command upon it; but anything like the hopeless and uttermisery of the drawn cheeks and staring eyes I had never conceived. Iinvoluntarily drew back, feeling that it was almost wrong to look atanything so fallen and so wretched. But Amroth detained me.
"He is not aware of us," he said, "and I desire you to look at him."
Presently the man rose wearily to his feet, and began to pace up anddown round the walls, with the mechanical movements of a caged animal,avoiding the posts of the shelter without seeming to see them, and thencast himself down again upon the stones in a paroxysm of melancholy. Heseemed to have no desire to escape, no energy, except to suffer. Therewas no hope about it all, no suggestion of prayer, nothing but blank andunadulterated suffering.
Amroth drew me back into the tower, and motioned me to the nextbalcony. Again I went out. The sight that I saw was almost more terriblethan the first, because the prisoner here, penned in a similarenclosure, was more restless, and seemed to suffer more acutely. Thiswas a younger man, who walked swiftly and vaguely about, casting glancesup at the wall which enclosed him. Sometimes he stopped, and seemed tobe pursuing some dreadful train of solitary thought; he gesticulated,and even broke out into mutterings and cries--the cries that I had heardfrom without. I could not bear to look at this sight, and coming back,besought Amroth to lead me away. Amroth, who was himself, I perceived,deeply moved, and stood with lips compressed, nodded in token of assent.We went quickly down the stairway, and took our way up the hill amongthe stones, in silence. The shapes of similar enclosures were to be seeneverywhere, and the indescribable blankness and grimness of the scenestruck a chill to my heart.
From the top of the ridge we could see the same bare valleys stretchingin all directions, as far as the eye could see. The only other buildingin sight was a great circular tower of stone, far down in the valley,from which beat the pulse of some heavy machinery, which gave the sense,I do not know how, of a ghastly and watchful life at the centre of all.
"That is the Tower of Pain," said Amroth, "and I will spare you theinner sight of that. Only our very bravest and strongest can enter thereand preserve any hope. But it is well for you to know it is there, andthat souls have to enter it. It is thence that all the pain of countlessworlds emanates and vibrates, and the governor of the place is the mosttried and bravest of all the servants of God. Thither we must go, foryou shall have sight of him, though you shall not enter."
We went down the hill with all the speed we might, and, I will confessit, with the darkest dismay I have ever experienced tugging at my heart.We were soon at the foot of the enormous structure. Amroth knocked atthe gate, a low door, adorned with some vague and ghastly sculptures,things like worms and huddled forms drearily intertwined. The dooropened, and revealed a fiery and smouldering light within. High up inthe tower a great wheel whizzed and shivered, and moving shadowscrossed and recrossed the firelit walls.
But the figure that came out to us--how shall I describe him? It was themost beautiful and gracious sight of all that I saw in my pilgrimage. Hewas a man of tall stature, with snow-white, silvery hair and beard,dressed in a dark cloak with a gleaming clasp of gold. But for all hisage he had a look of immortal youth. His clear and piercing eye had aglance of infinite tenderness, such as I had never conceived. There weremany lines upon his brow and round his eyes, but his complexion was asfresh as that of a child, and he stepped as briskly as a youth. We bowedlow to him, and he reached out his hands, taking Amroth's hand and minein each of his. His touch had a curious thrill, the hand that held minebeing firm and smooth and wonderfully warm.
"Well, my children," he said in a clear, youthful voice, "I am glad tosee you, because there are few who come hither willingly; and the oldand weary are cheered by the sight of those that are young and strong.Amroth I know. But who are you, my child? You have not been among uslong. Have you found your work and place here yet?" I told him my storyin a few words, and he smiled indulgently. "There is nothing like beingat work," he said. "Even my business here, which seems sad enough tomost people, must be done; and I do it very willingly. Do not befrightened, my child," he said to me suddenly, drawing me nearer to him,and folding my arm beneath his own. "It is only on earth that we arefrightened of pain; it spoils our poor plans, it makes us fretful andmiserable, it brings us into the shadow of death. But for all that, asAmroth knows, it is the best and most fruitful of all the works that theFather does for man, and the thing dearest to His heart. We cannotprosper till we suffer, and suffering leads us very swiftly into joy andpeace. Indeed this Tower of Pain, as it is called, is in fact nothingbut the Tower of Love. Not until love is touched with pain does itbecome beautiful, and the joy that comes through pain is the only realthing in the world. Of course, when my great engine here sends a thrillinto a careless life, it comes as a dark surprise; but then followcourage and patience and wonder, and all the dear tendance of Love. Ihave borne it all myself a hundred times, and I shall bear it again ifthe Father wills it. But w
hen you leave me here, do not think of me asof one who works, grim and indifferent, wrecking lives and destroyinghomes. It is but the burning of the weeds of life; and it is as needfulas the sunshine and the rain. Pain does not wander aimlessly, smitingdown by mischance and by accident; it comes as the close and dearintention of the Father's heart, and is to a man as a trumpet-call fromthe land of life, not as a knell from the land of death. And now, dearchildren, you must leave me, for I have much to do. And I will giveyou," he added, turning to me, "a gift which shall be your comfort, anda token that you have been here, and seen the worst and the best thatthere is to see."
He drew from under his cloak a ring, a circlet of gold holding a redstone with a flaming heart, and put it on my finger. There piercedthrough me a pang intenser than any I had ever experienced, in which allthe love and sorrow I had ever known seemed to be suddenly mingled, andwhich left behind it a perfect and intense sense of joy.
"There, that is my gift," he said, "and you shall have an old man'sloving blessing too, for it is that, after all, that I live for." Hedrew me to him and kissed me on the brow, and in a moment he was gone.
We walked away in silence, and for my part with an elation of spiritwhich I could hardly control, a desire to love and suffer, and do and beall that the mind of man could conceive. But my heart was too full tospeak.
"Come," said Amroth presently, "you are not as grateful as I hadhoped--you are outgrowing me! Come down to my poor level for an instant,and beware of spiritual pride!" Then altering his tone he said, "Ah,yes, dear friend, I understand. There is nothing in the world like it,and you were most graciously and tenderly received--but the end is notyet."
"Amroth," I said, "I am like one intoxicated with joy. I feel that Icould endure anything and never make question of anything again. Howinfinitely good he was to me--like a dear father!"
"Yes," said Amroth, "he is very like the Father "--and he smiled at me amysterious smile.
"Amroth," I said, bewildered, "you cannot mean--?"
"No, I mean nothing," said Amroth, "but you have to-day looked very farinto the truth, farther than is given to many so soon; but you are achild of fortune, and seem to please every one. I declare that a littlemore would make me jealous."
Presently, catching sight of one of the enclosures hard by, I said toAmroth, "But there are some questions I must ask. What has justhappened had put it mostly out of my head. Those poor suffering soulsthat we saw just now--it is well, with them, I am sure, so near theMaster of the Tower--he does not forget them, I am sure--but who arethey, and what have they done to suffer so?"
"I will tell you," said Amroth, "for it is a dark business. Those twothat you have seen--well, you will know one of them by name and fame,and of the other you may have heard. The first, that old shaggy-hairedman, who lay upon the stones, that was ----"
He mentioned a name that was notorious in Europe at the time of my lifeon earth, though he was then long dead; a ruthless and ambitiousconqueror, who poured a cataract of life away, in wars, for his ownaggrandisement. Then he mentioned another name, a statesman who pursueda policy of terrorism and oppression, enriched himself by barbarouscruelty exercised in colonial possessions, and was famous for thecalculated libertinism of his private life.
"They were great sinners," said Amroth, "and the sorrows they made andflung so carelessly about them, beat back upon them now in a surge ofpain. These men were strangely affected, each of them, by the smallestsight or sound of suffering--a tortured animal, a crying child; and yetthey were utterly ruthless of the pain that they did not see. It was alack, no doubt, of the imagination of which I spoke, and which makes allthe difference. And now they have to contemplate the pain which theycould not imagine; and they have to learn submission and humility. It isa terrible business in a way--the loneliness of it! There used to be anold saying that the strongest man was the man that was most alone. Butit was just because these men practised loneliness on earth that theyhave to suffer so. They used others as counters in a game, they hadneither friend nor beloved, except for their own pleasure. They dependedupon no one, needed no one, desired no one. But there are many othershere who did the same on a small scale--selfish fathers and mothers whomade homes miserable; boys who were bullies at school and tyrants in theworld, in offices, and places of authority. This is the place ofdiscipline for all base selfishness and vile authority, for all who haveoppressed and victimised mankind."
"But," I said, "here is my difficulty. I understand the case of theoppressors well enough; but about the oppressed, what is the justice ofthat? Is there not a fortuitous element there, an interruption of theDivine plan? Take the case of the thousands of lives wasted by somebrutal conqueror. Are souls sent into the world for that, to be drivenin gangs, made to fight, let us say, for some abominable cause, andthen recklessly dismissed from life?"
"Ah," said Amroth, "you make too much of the dignity of life! You do notknow how small a thing a single life is, not as regards the life ofmankind, but in the life of one individual. Of course if a man had butone single life on earth, it would be an intolerable injustice; and thatis the factor which sets all straight, the factor which most of us, inour time of bodily self-importance, overlook. These oppressors have nopower over other lives except what God allows, and bewildered humanityconcedes. Not only is the great plan whole in the mind of God, but everysingle minutest life is considered as well. In the very case you spokeof, the little conscript, torn from his home to fight a tyrant'sbattles, hectored and ill-treated, and then shot down upon some crowdedbattle-field, that is precisely the discipline which at that point oftime his soul needs, and the blessedness of which he afterwardsperceives; sometimes discipline is swift and urgent, sometimes it isslow and lingering: but all experience is exactly apportioned to thequality of which each soul is in need. The only reason why there seemsto be an element of chance in it, is that the whole thing is soinconceivably vast and prolonged; and our happiness and our progressalike depend upon our realising at every moment that the smallest joyand the most trifling pleasure, as well as the tiniest ailment or themost subtle sorrow, are just the pieces of experience which we are meantat that moment to use and make our own. No one, not even God, can forceus to understand this; we have to perceive it for ourselves, and to livein the knowledge of it."
"Yes," I said, "it is true, all that. My heart tells me so; but it isvery wonderful and mysterious, all the same. But, Amroth, I have seenand heard enough. My spirit desires with all its might to be at its ownwork, hastening on the mighty end. Now, I can hold no more of wonders.Let me return."
"Yes," said Amroth, "you are right! These wonders are so familiar to methat I forget, perhaps, the shock with which they come to minds unusedto them. Yet there are other things which you must assuredly see, whenthe time comes; but I must not let you bite off a larger piece than youcan swallow."
He took me by the hand; the breeze passed through my hair; and in aninstant we were back at the fortress-gate, and I entered the belovedshelter, with a grateful sense that I was returning home.